


a constellation, a calamity

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Johnny wakes up every morning with a drilling headache.





	a constellation, a calamity

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea what this is!

Johnny wakes up every morning with a drilling headache. 

Continuos, persistent. It never fully leaves. So recurrent by now, that Johnny almost embraces the feeling, gets used to it, and learns to live with a needle sinking into his skin. Like a wrecked ship, slowly filling up with water, a gradual feeling that’s more damaging than anything. 

Ten is a change. Ten is a collision, a colossal painting on a church ceiling. A colloquial word that's so rarely spoken. A colorful winter. A connection. A conversation at 3 a.m under the eerie darkness painted with white dots. A constellation. A constant. Everything Johnny is not, apparently. So with a simple smile and a few words, Johnny wakes up wrapped around a warm torso, chin against his temple, where a pressure used to be. 

It’s past tense, then. 

What used to be, what used to be Johnny’s mess. It’s Ten’s divine presence, and nothing else. 

“One of sugar, right?” He asks, eyes fixed on the cup of coffee he’s holding. It’s warm, painting Ten’s hands with a red tint. Johnny thinks back to first meetings and flushed faces. 

“Yeah.” Johnny is a collapse. “Did you wash your hands?”

The way he blinks two times, consecutively, eyes avoiding contact with Johnny’s eyes, is a dead giveaway. A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, and Ten seems to notice, instantly going on the defensive. 

“I did!”

Johnny smiles because he knows. He goes to sleep with a clear head. 

-

When Ten first walked into his life, there were many things Johnny had to learn. And unlearn. 

Open up and allow him to explore his deepest, hidden thoughts. Put a stop to his ingrained habit of apologizing as if it’s his second nature.    
  
(“Seriously, stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”)

It was a sacrifice Johnny decided to make, choosing Ten over everything else. And then, Ten becomes just another habit of his. A second nature. An instinctive, intuitive reaction. It’s not exactly ideal, but Johnny learns to live with it. To live, to love.

“I love you, y’know,” whispered against Ten’s rosy lips, “I feel like I was born to love you.” 

Ten lets out a happy, breathless giggle. It reminds Johnny of first kisses and date nights. “You’re absolutely—”   
  
There aren’t many words, Johnny thinks as he kisses Ten sweetly, enough to describe whatever feeling oozes through his veins in that very moment. It seeps through his mouth, through his fingers, through every gasp escaping him. When Ten holds him, down, onto the mattress with a firm grip. When his eyelids flutter and white flashes in front of him, like fireworks, like a celebration. 

“I love you.” 

Johnny is a contradiction. 

-

Later, he discovers it’s not precisely a headache. 

Johnny’s head pounds and his forehead is a lit bonfire. Flames lick across his body, taking over it in a matter of hours. Then, a sharp pain tugs at the back of his eyes. 

“You’re  _ hot _ ,” Ten mutters, inspecting him closely. 

“Thank you.”

Smiling broadly, Ten scoffs. His brain burns in a sea of red. 

“Lay down, I’ll get something to help with your fever.” Johnny contently complies, but it hurts. In shambles, his mind can only continue burning. It’s like a puzzle Johnny aches to solve. 

“My head hurts,” he says in a hushed tone. 

“Yeah, that’s a headache.”

It pieces together, somehow. After suddenly his skin regains some of its usual glow, not lifeless anymore, a dull color—and what felt like a wildfire advancing and owning every part of his body soon leaves, Johnny opts to ignore it. Pushing it far back into his mind, where light doesn’t shine on. 

Ten is a catalyst. 

-

As it never fully leaves, it’s no surprise Johnny finds himself alone in bed with a terrible, nasty headache. It’s not a needle boring into his skull, it’s a thousand of them, creating a throbbing pain impossible to ignore. Impossible, unbearable. Because Johnny isn’t used to it. 

He’s used to Ten’s dazzling smile, sugary words, delicate touch.    
  
But it never fully  _ leaves _ . 

“One of sugar, right?”

Johnny can only nod, as his head slumps forward, and the pressure around his skull threatens to crack it open. This time, he doesn’t dare to ask if Ten washed his hands. There are no smirks or mocking grins.    
  
“I’m sorry.”

Now, Ten doesn’t reprimand him. He remains quiet, watching silently Johnny’s pained expression. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t intrude. Only allows the tension to grow, crushing. 

Johnny is a complexity. A conflict, a consequence. A contrition. A conversation dying out after minutes of awkward silence. A conscious reminder of what you’re meant to avoid. A calamity. A changeable chaos. 

So he goes to sleep in an empty bed and wakes up with a drilling headache.  
  



End file.
